


lacuna

by ndnickerson



Category: Nancy Drew - Carolyn Keene
Genre: Accidents, Amnesia, Angst, Drinking, Engagement, F/M, Living Together, Morning Sex, Reunions, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-20 23:47:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18134024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ndnickerson/pseuds/ndnickerson
Summary: A particularly terrible accident during a case leaves Ned with no memory of Nancy, and she's devastated.





	lacuna

The vodka bottle was plastic, never an auspicious beginning, and held roughly a gallon. It had been on the kitchen counter for a week. Nancy had looked at it several times.

Tonight, though, it was time.

She bypassed the shot glasses and took out a tall glass and tossed a few ice cubes in. Hot tears stung her eyes and the back of her throat as she wrapped her fingers around the cap, then gave it a hard twist, breaking the seal. A tear slid down her cheek, and she gasped in a breath as the fumes hit her.

Like this would be enough to make her forget. She snorted at the irony, swiped the back of her hand over her mouth, and started to pour.

She was on her third—the drink could loosely be called a vodka and coke, although she was pretty sure the proper ratio wasn't supposed to be one-to-one—when her phone started buzzing. Her face was wet, and all too often she found herself glancing at the diamond on her left hand.

It didn't mean anything now. It was shocking, how little it meant now.

The call clicked over to voicemail and Nancy ran her fingers through her hair. The television was on, but she wasn't watching it. Instead she was just looking around the apartment, seeing everything she hadn't let herself see in the past three weeks. Remembering all she could.

And for what?

Maybe Edith would ask for the ring back, she realized, looking down at her hand again. And maybe she would be right to ask. Even so, Nancy still couldn't imagine taking it off freely. She was a terrible fucking human being, but she couldn't let that piece go.

She still had hope. It had dwindled, but she couldn't quite bring herself to believe it was over. Not like this.

Her phone buzzed again. She flipped it over and saw Bess's face there. When that call clicked over to voicemail too, Nancy's best friend resorted to a text message.

_I'm coming over there._

The corner of Nancy's lips twitched up, but that was all. She finished her vodka and coke in a few gulps, wincing, then placed the glass on the coffee table with exaggerated care. Edith had helped pick out the table.

Fuck. _Fuck._

She was only a few letters into her reply when autopredict lit up with "stakeout," and accepted the suggestion with a sigh of relief. The last one had tasted like it had almost no liquor in it at all, and she was very aware that she didn't have good control of herself right now. She couldn't bear the thought of Bess's optimism, her pleas to keep hoping and trying.

Everything just fucking hurt, so much. She ached for him. She wanted to see him again, even though the guilt would swallow her alive, just as it had every day she opened her eyes to see the bed beside her empty.

After the fourth drink, Nancy's eyes jolted open. She felt flushed and weightless, her head buzzing—

Her phone was buzzing.

Nancy picked it up, her vision wavering before she managed to focus on the screen. She fully expected to see Bess there, blonde hair, perky smile.

_Ned._

Nancy was so startled that she choked, propelling herself forward, and nearly fell off the couch. Before she could think it through, she swiped the screen to answer.

"Hello?" Something was wrong with her voice. She cleared her throat. "Hello?"

"Hi?" Ned said at the same time she repeated herself.

The sudden jolt of euphoria that had left her giddy fell away just as quickly, and she fell backward on the couch, closing her eyes. "Ned?"

"Hi," he repeated. "Um. Are you... Is this a good time to talk?"

Her chest felt solid, heavy, and it was hard to speak. "Now is fine," she said. "Are you feeling all right?"

_Stupid, stupid._ Of course he wasn't feeling all right. She cringed, wishing she could take the words back.

"I'm doing okay," he said. "I... Could I come see you?"

Another wave of tears flooded her eyes. "Yes," she said, keeping her voice even, though it was a struggle. At least she hoped her voice was even. "I would love to see you."

"Okay. Um. We can meet somewhere, if you want? I'd like to see the apartment, too."

After three tries, Nancy managed to straighten. Her eyes were still swimming, making her disorientation even worse. "I—"

"It doesn't have to be tonight," he rushed to add, after her long pause. "But I'd like to see you tonight. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called so late."

She could hear the hesitant note in his voice, and it broke her heart. Everything about this was so wrong, so terribly fucking wrong. "I'd love to see you," she repeated. "Tonight. Uh, are you... are you in the city?"

"No. Home. —Mapleton."

This _is home._ Nancy tried to stifle her sob, to cover it with a cough, but tears were pouring down her cheeks. She tried to prop her palm on the couch beside her to stay upright, but it felt like the world was spinning away under her.

"I can take the train, though? I can meet you at the apartment. I'm sure I can get a taxi."

The sobs that were still quaking in her chest tried to become hysterical laughter. It was no longer a nightmare; it was a surreal dream, she was just drunk...

And she _was_ drunk, but when the almost angry giddiness passed, she would just be left with her guilt, her hatred for what she had done.

"Yes," she said, her voice clogged with tears, and cleared her throat until the word came out more clearly. "Yes. Take a train—take a taxi from the—the train. Do you need the address?"

"It's on my—my driver's license." He laughed briefly.

"Okay. Call me if you—need help." She closed her eyes tight again. The whole point of drinking had been to forget, but instead, she had just frayed her own control to nothing.

"Okay. See you soon."

She sobbed into her palms for a few minutes after the call ended, then muttered to herself. This wasn't going to help. Her gaze swung wildly around the room. Shoes were tumbled in a heap near the recliner. The coffee table was littered with smudged drinking glasses. She hadn't tidied up since that awful case.

She was staggering in a drunken, veering path to the washing machine, a massive load of laundry in her arms, when she registered that her phone was buzzing again. She gasped his name and left the towels, sheets, shirts in a tangle on the floor as she dove for it. At least the laundry cushioned her fall, though she snarled a curse when she banged her shin against a leg of the coffee table.

The call had clicked over to voicemail by the time she scooped up her phone, but the missed call wasn't from Ned. Bile rose in her throat as she saw the name.

_No. Don't want to._

But her thumb had already swiped the screen to return the call, and for the space of half a heartbeat, she considered just hanging up. Instead, she brought the phone to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Hi. Nancy? Are you free?"

Nancy rolled from her hip to prop herself up at the foot of the couch, sweeping her hair out of her face. "Yes," she said cautiously.

"Ned's about to leave for the train station. James is driving him. Do you want to see him?"

_How can you fucking ask that?_ She came within a second of speaking the furious words. "Yes," she said instead. "He said he wanted to see our place. And I miss him," she said, horrified when tears welled up again. "I'm so goddamned sorry," she said, her voice wavering, going high and thin before it cracked and was swallowed in a sob.

"You have nothing to be sorry about," Edith said, her voice soothing. "He's doing all right. We've been showing him photos and helping him with PT appointments. I know you're busy."

"I would have—" _Made time_ , she almost said. And she believed it. But a part of her also knew it was a lie.

"I know. But I also know you're busy."

Nancy blinked several times. "Are you still mad at me?" she asked, her voice small, and she hated the vulnerability in it. The pleading note.

Edith sucked in a breath. "I... _I'm_ sorry. I was upset. And that's no excuse. No, I'm not mad at you. I wasn't... I just wasn't thinking clearly."

Nancy almost snorted in derision. "You wouldn't let me see him. I thought you were still mad."

"What do you mean, I wouldn't let you see him?"

"I came _every day_ ," Nancy said, tipping her head back, her hand on her forehead, "and every day I was told I couldn't see him. The nurse said she would ask."

"She didn't," Edith replied, slowly. "Or _he_ didn't. I didn't know. You should have called me... although even if you had, I might not have heard it. I never asked anyone to block your access to him. And James wouldn't have, either. Oh, sweetheart."

"Fuck." Nancy was crying freely again, and though alarm bells chimed every time she cursed during their conversation, the alarm was muted, not enough to embarrass her in the overwhelming flood of her own relief. "I thought you were. I understood. I'm nothing to him now."

"It's going to come back," Edith said firmly. "You're not nothing to him, or to us. And it could be that when he walks in tonight, that'll be it."

Nancy shifted, tugging a wadded towel from underneath her thigh and sighing in relief. "But the pictures... nothing?"

Edith sighed. "Bits and pieces," she admitted. "I keep hoping it will just be a flood, but it isn't. He's healing, though. That's what's important."

Nancy nodded, closing her eyes, even though the words hurt. He wouldn't need to be _healing_ if not for her. "Yeah."

Edith paused. "We love you. You're always welcome to visit. I would never stop you. But until... I think it'd be better if he stayed here."

Nancy looked down at the diamond again. "I understand."

Edith was quiet for another minute. "Are you drunk?"

Her tone wasn't judgemental; Nancy wasn't sure what she would have done if it had been. "Yeah," she said. There didn't seem to be any point in denying it. "I've sobered up some."

"Okay. Look, come out and see us, all right? We'll just relax, maybe tell some stories? We can grill out."

"Yeah." She had felt tense for a very long time, and her anger at herself had made her believe so easily that Edith and James had to hate her. "Um, thank you. For being there for him."

Edith paused again. "Normally I wouldn't admit this, but it's been nice, in a way, to have him home. His place is with you, and a tiny part of me has been jealous. But I never would have wished this, and I know you didn't either. He's been talking about you today. Of course we've shown him photos of the two of you. I think that maybe pieces of what— I think he's starting to remember a little about you. Just don't expect too much. It's disappointing sometimes."

Of course it was frustrating for Edith and James, but at least Ned _remembered_ them. Ned had blinked up at her and his expression had been blank. Polite, but blank. To him, she was a stranger.

_Disappointing_ didn't even begin to describe it.

\--

Ned shuffled a few steps forward off the elevator, gazing around him in unabashed fascination. He had only been in apartment buildings a few times, and the novelty hadn't worn off yet. Nothing about it seemed familiar, which didn't surprise him. He clenched his jaw as a now-familiar pain radiated out from his hip, and concentrated on keeping his steps smooth.

He felt like he was going on a first date.

His favorite leather jacket was gone; it wouldn't have fit him anymore, anyway. He still missed it. Most of the clothes in his closet were unfamiliar. His shoulders were broader than he remembered. Everything about him seemed different. 

He had asked his father's opinion on what to wear tonight, and had settled on a polo shirt some shade between pale blue and green, and jeans. The guy who had met his gaze in the mirror looked thrillingly adult. A little beat up, sure, but that was all right. The bruises were pretty faded, even though he winced when he saw them.

And he was here to see the woman in the photos.

The first time he had come to the den to sit with his parents for a while, just to get a change of scenery from the bed where he spent a lot of his time, he had seen the prominently-displayed framed photo. The grown-up version of him was standing behind a beautiful woman with hair that was an interesting shade between red and blonde, and his arms were wrapped around her. She had bright blue eyes and a wide smile, and her hands were resting over his. A sparkling diamond gleamed on her hand.

He was actually _engaged_. And the expression on his face in the photograph was one Ned couldn't remember wearing before. Proud and happy and loving. Confident. He was proud to be with this woman.

She had been in the hospital too, but Ned couldn't really remember that. Waking up had been awful. He only saw it in flashes. A lock of reddish-gold hair falling over a pale cheek, sapphire-blue eyes startled wide, trembling lips.

After he had spent a while staring at the photograph, studying her features, he had felt a deep need to meet her and speak to her. The photo wasn't jogging any memories. He had pulled up the photo of her that appeared on his phone for her contact information, and _that_ photo had provoked something, a flash of—joy, fear, happiness? As quickly as Ned had felt it, it had been gone. No other photos had done that to him.

He was engaged to a stranger. And though they were engaged, Nancy was engaged to a guy he _had_ been (or would be?), and finding the nerve to actually call her and speak to her had taken a while. He had been afraid she would reject him, or just not answer, or tell him that it was a bad time. Then he would have to go through all this again.

And maybe meeting her would unlock everything, and turn those vague, frustrating flashes of emotion and image to a flood. At first, the doctors had thought that might happen, but now, Ned had just stopped hoping for it. 

He had gone to college, apparently. He had a job, but he was on leave from it while he recovered—and the thought of returning to a place of business, learning how to navigate it, filled him with both anticipation and a little dread. He was an adult, old enough to buy alcohol, to buy anything he could afford. But within his own skin, he still felt like he was sixteen.

He checked his driver's license—a full license, no mere permit, although he wasn't quite healed enough to drive a car yet—one last time, slotted it back into his wallet, and shoved his wallet back into his pocket. Yes, this was the right number. Nothing marked it as any different from any other door in the hallway, not even his fractured memories, and apparently the key on the ring beside the one that opened the building's front door would open this door, but Ned didn't feel comfortable doing that. He scrubbed his damp palms on his jeans, cleared his throat, and raised his fist to rap on the door.

In the time between his knock and her answer, Ned felt like he was coming out of his skin. He shifted his weight, tried to slow his breathing down, tried desperately to calm down, but failed miserably.

Her eyes were so bright. This woman he had apparently asked to marry him.

She was shorter than he was, but he had been able to see that in the photo. She was fit, and her hair was pulled back from her face. She wore sandals and a blue dress, and the sight of the dress caused his lips to quirk up slightly in a smile, though he couldn't have said why. It was a pretty dress, though. And she was beautiful.

Her face was a little flushed, and her eyes looked—the skin around them was a little puffy, the whites faintly pink. She had been crying.

Ned's polite, nervous smile dropped to a frown, his brows drawing together. "I—are you all right?"

She nodded, searching his face, her gaze so intent on him that Ned felt uncomfortable for a second. He could see pain in her expression. "Oh—please come inside," she said, stepping back. The smile she put on wasn't forced, exactly, but it was sad.

He nodded and put on his own smile, stepping inside and wiping his shoes on the rug there by habit as he looked around. The room in front of him held a couch and a recliner, a television set, a coffee table. To his left he could see a kitchen, all white and beige. A stack of mail was piled on the countertop, and he could see some glasses in the sink, but otherwise it was pretty tidy.

The television was off.

_I don't know what I'm supposed to do._ He had been at girls' houses before, with and without their parents, but those had been stolen minutes or hours, with an end in sight. This was her place, the place she had apparently lived with him. No parents would be coming in to interrupt them, and his own parents had said he could either come home or stay here tonight. All he had to do was call when he needed any help.

She was still a stranger, but he wanted to touch her. He wanted to see if the feel of her skin under his fingertips was familiar.

She cleared her throat, smoothing her hand over the hem of her dress, then gestured to the couch. "Can I get you anything? Glass of water?"

He nodded. "That sounds good," he said, watching her again. Her expression was a little strained. This was probably more uncomfortable for her than it was for him, he realized. He should know where everything was. This was their home, after all.

"I," he began quietly, about to offer to pour his own glass, but her voice came first.

"Have a seat. Are you—feeling okay?"

He waited until she returned with two glasses of water and perched beside him on the couch to respond. "Yeah. The physical therapy is going pretty well." He gestured to the boot on his right leg. "The doctors say it'll probably heal good as new."

She winced, glancing down at her glass. "That's good."

"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable."

Her eyes were shimmering with tears when she met his gaze again. "Uncomfortable's not quite the word," she said, ending with a quiet, bitter chuckle. "I'm so incredibly sorry this happened to you. All of it. It's my fault."

Ned shook his head. "You aren't the one who hurt me," he replied. He wasn't clear on much, but he did know that for sure.

She sighed. "But you wouldn't have gotten hurt if not for me."

He shrugged. "It's not your fault," he told her. "And that's not what I wanted to talk about, anyway, but it isn't." He paused. She looked unconvinced, unhappy, and he felt desperate to stop it. "And even if it were, I'd forgive you."

That was apparently the wrong thing to say. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she sniffled quietly, then shook her head.

"Nan." He reached for her hand and placed his over it.

She met his gaze again. "Do you... do you remember me?"

Her voice was shaking a little. Ned shook his head, and the faint hope that had lit her eyes faded as her face crumpled.

"But I think I'm starting to," he said softly.

She made a sound that was half-moan, half-sob. "Shit," she whispered.

"That's kind of why I wanted to see you tonight. I've seen a lot of pictures of us, and my parents have told me stories." He knew he was speaking a little too fast, but he wanted to do something, _anything_ , to make her feel better. "But I think I remember a few things, and I needed to see if I had just been dreaming, or something."

"Oh." She wiped her face and pulled a few tissues out of the box on the coffee table, blotting away her tears. Her face was still flushed, tense.

"I'm standing on steps on this tall wooden thing, in the middle of the woods, I think. Everywhere around is trees, and it's chilly. You're in my arms and you're upset, and I feel—sad, and relieved, I think? There's a woman on the ground, and I think she fell."

"Dead?" Nancy's voice was soft.

Ned nodded. "Yes," he replied, just as quietly.

"That's a memory." She looked up into his face. "That woman was trying to kill me because she wanted revenge. She blamed my father for her father going to prison, and she wanted to hurt him by killing me. She almost killed all of us. You, me, Bess, George."

Bess and George. His parents had told Ned about them, too. Nancy's best friends, and they were his friends as well.

"I thought it was a nightmare."

"It certainly was, at the time." She gave him a brief smile. "Another time I put your life in danger," she added softly.

Ned gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Her skin was warm and smooth under his fingertips. Seeing her so upset made him want to hold her. It was insistent, pounding. "I'm not trying to make you upset."

She nodded slightly.

"We're walking beside water, and it's warm. We're both dressed up, the sun's setting, and we're happy together. And I... I asked you to marry me?"

Her smile this time was genuine. "Yeah."

"But I don't have a ring..."

"No. You wouldn't have." She brushed a stray hair off her cheek. Her eyes were still gleaming. "You promised yourself that I was the first woman you would ever ask to marry you, but you were about to propose to someone else."

Ned startled, his eyes wide. " _What?_ "

She chuckled. "That was pretty much my reaction, too. You see, you'd met someone..."

He slowly relaxed, listening to her fill in blanks that his parents hadn't, or hadn't known about. Watching her ice skate, his foot hurting, snow-covered mountains around them. Marshmallows roasted over the fire in her father's living room. The sight of Nancy herself in a hospital bed, pale as the sheets under her. A few times, he'd felt a tantalizing knowledge that there was more, that he was just studying the tip of a huge, mostly-submerged iceberg. If only a key phrase or image would just bring the rest of it in focus...

She finished another glass of water. "All this probably feels like it happened to someone else," she commented, starting to push herself up.

Ned picked up his own empty glass and followed her into the kitchen. He found himself moving too close to her, moving into her personal space far too easily, and restrained himself every time. It wasn't that he didn't want to touch her; he wanted it too much. Now just didn't seem like the right time.

"In a way," he admitted. "But you seem so familiar. I hate that I can't remember."

She turned to him, the expression on her face so nakedly agonized that he reacted without thinking. He wrapped her in his arms and pulled her tight against him, and she drew in a ragged breath before her body began to tremble with her sobs.

"You're better off without me," she whispered.

Ned pulled back so he could look into her face, his palm finding her cheek and tilting her head up from where it hung. "No," he said firmly.

She shook her head and began to try to pull away from him. "I keep getting you hurt," she replied. "Didn't you notice that? That so often your memories of me are while you're injured, in pain. And _this_..."

"You didn't do this to me."

"It wouldn't have happened, if not for me." She sniffled. Her eyes were full of misery.

He could protest all he wanted, but it wouldn't matter. She was too upset to hear him.

His thumb brushed her lower lip, and then he was leaning down, and his lips were brushing against hers. She didn't pull away, didn't react with shock or anger; instead, her hand came up. He felt her fingertips against his cheek, his jaw, down his neck to his shoulder, and a warm tingling lingered wherever she touched him. In his memory, in his head, he was pretty good at kissing, but he had never kissed anyone else this way.

The tiny whimper she released made him suddenly aroused, and a flush rose in his cheeks.

He released her, suddenly unsure, and she fell back onto her heels with a quiet thump. Her gaze was on him.

Something in her mouth burned against his tongue. Alcohol.

"It didn't work, huh," she murmured.

Ned raised his eyebrows.

She sighed very quietly and picked up her glass. "Didn't break the spell," she clarified. "Was that our first kiss?"

He nodded. If she noticed his reaction to it, he would be completely mortified.

She refilled their glasses and handed him his. "Come on," she said, and he followed her out of the kitchen, back to the couch again.

They talked, and though he was relieved that her fit of guilt and sadness seemed to have passed, he wasn't sure it totally had. He couldn't say why, but this didn't seem to be _her_. Maybe because in all the photos his parents had shown him, Nancy was smiling, laughing, happy to be around him. _Happy_ definitely wasn't the word for her tonight, and though occasionally she made little jokes, her mood was somber.

He went to the bathroom, and when he returned she was slumped on the couch, her head pillowed by an arm, her eyes closed. When his gaze strayed to her legs, revealed where her dress had slid up, he immediately gave his head a sharp shake and looked away. Yes, she was beautiful, but he wasn't going to ogle her while she slept.

At first he wanted to carry her to her bed and tuck her in before leaving, but he realized that he couldn't do that. Not tonight, anyway. His injuries made it impossible. Instead he pulled the blanket draped over the back of the couch to him and unfolded it, considering before he draped it over her.

He was trying to be gentle, but her eyes opened anyway, and she yawned. "Sorry," she said, her lips quirking up in apology. "It's been a long week. Are you tired?"

He nodded. "I didn't mean to—I didn't want to wake you."

She waved off his apology. "Sleeping on the couch isn't all that comfortable anyway," she admitted, pushing back the blanket and yawning again. "You probably want to get—back."

_Home._ She didn't call it that. For her, this was the place where they lived together.

"If you're... okay with it, can I see the bedroom?"

That small smile became a quick grin that soon faded. "Sure."

It was small, made smaller thanks to the large bed. Two dressers, a spaghetti tangle of charger cords beneath the bedside table, two framed prints and a collage frame full of photos. It didn't bring anything back to him, but when he opened the closet door, that seemed familiar for a few seconds. Suits and dress shirts, polished dress shoes, Nancy's dresses and blouses, all sorted and arranged.

Nancy was sitting at the edge of the bed when he turned around, and their gazes met. They had made love in here, he knew without asking, even though he didn't remember it. But he felt like some part of him _did_ remember it. He wanted to be in bed with her.

On the most basic level, that thought was rather terrifying. He'd fooled around with a few girls, but that was it. Sleeping in the same bed with a _woman_...

But that didn't seem to matter when he looked into her eyes. He wanted her, regardless of anything, and even if his memories never fully returned, he knew his feelings for her would remain. Maybe the injuries had excised his memories of her, but his body had never forgotten.

And the attraction between them sent a flush up his neck, left him speechless.

She pushed herself up and stood, searching his gaze. "If I promise to be a lady," she said, and her eyes twinkled at that, so quickly it could have been his imagination. "Would you want to stay here tonight?"

He was nodding before she had even finished speaking.

\--

_Ned._

The familiarity of this, cuddling close to him, feeling the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing, made tears rise in Nancy's eyes. She had missed this so much while he had been gone.

He still didn't remember her. He seemed hesitant, afraid he was about to say or do something wrong. But every now and then she saw a flash of recognition on his face, and it was both exhilarating and heartbreaking.

Maybe she had been drunk, but she was right. He had been hurt so many times thanks to her. His amnesia didn't seem coincidental. His mind was just protecting him from what would inevitably happen again, if they were to stay together.

Nancy frowned, burrowing deeper under the covers. She didn't want to believe that. Edith's explanation for what Nancy had seen as anger and rejection seemed reasonable. No one had talked about canceling the wedding, even though in the depths of her depression, Nancy had known that was inevitable.

Last night she had been drunk and sad, and emotional. Maybe there was a chance for them to move past this, somehow, especially if she convinced Ned to stop helping her on her cases. She never, _never_ wanted him to wake up in a hospital bed again thanks to her.

She drifted to sleep again, and when she woke, Ned was spooned up behind her, his palm against her hip. Nancy made a quiet noise, remembering so many mornings that had begun this way. She was feeling aroused, which was unwelcome; she was in bed with a stranger, a stranger she had met years ago, who happened to inhabit the body of the man she loved. And despite the obvious tension between them, the last thing she wanted was to upset the fragile balance they had reached.

Still. Her body knew his, even if her heart was aching.

Then she felt his hand slide down a few inches. She held still, afraid to say anything, afraid to offend him or upset him.

"We've had sex, haven't we?" he murmured, and his voice was gravelly from sleep, and _that_ plugged straight into her libido too.

"Yeah," she breathed.

"This feels familiar. Waking up like this." He took a deep breath. Neither of them moved. "Can I just..." His hand moved another few inches. "Will you tell me to stop if..."

As though she would stop him. "I'm game if you are," she managed to say.

His hand explored her, and after a moment, she just let herself slump back to the mattress instead of staying tense. It reminded her of the first night they had ever spent together, and that made her lips quirk up even as a flash of tears stung at the back of her throat. If she never had that back...

Well, then they would have this instead.

That new duality persisted, familiar and strange, as his palm covered her breast, over the thin t-shirt she wore. Her nipples were already stiff peaks, and his thumb brushed back and forth over one, tentative at first. He was waiting for her to respond. So she cupped her hand over his in encouragement.

"I can't think about it too much," he whispered, as though to himself. "Or I'll lose it."

_Lose what?_ Control of himself? Or something else?

She allowed his slow strokes, then reached down and tugged the hem of her shirt up. When his hand encountered bare skin, the sloping curve of her breast, he sucked in a breath. Nancy whimpered quietly as he resumed his caress. There was something about it, both maddening and incredible, that had her drawing inward, biting her lower lip, afraid she might somehow frighten him away.

When she couldn't fight it anymore, when she felt his erection against the back of her panties, she grasped his wrist. Her hips were gently angling in the barest possible imitation of thrusts. The passage between her thighs was tender and pulsing with need.

"Something wrong?" He didn't draw his hand away, though.

She shook her head. "We can get each other off," she said, a faint blush heating her face, as though she was planning to deflower him all over again. "Or..."

"Or," he repeated, and moved his hand so he could lace their fingers together. He brought it up to his lips and brushed a kiss against the back of her hand.

Nancy closed her eyes for a moment. "You're trying to drive me crazy," she whispered.

"I hope it's working."

Something about the warmth in his voice made her eyes fly open. She rolled onto her other side to face him, and then his palm was cupping her hip, under her panties, and the electricity that crackled when their gazes met took her breath away.

"Yes," she groaned, clutching at his shoulder as his lips found her neck. "Oh God, _please_..."

She would have been embarrassed at how quickly she stripped her panties off, maybe, but her hunger for him swept it away. His caresses were more confident now, but he was still taking his time, so much that by the time the heel of his hand brushed against the top of her sex and barely stimulated her already-swelled clit, she almost sobbed.

"How...?"

Nancy didn't even wait for him to finish. She slid her leg over him and carefully straddled him, and he released a quietly startled breath, gazing up at her in appreciation. She reached between them and palmed his cock, and he arched up, his eyes sewing shut, his lips parting in bliss. Then she lowered herself onto him, and he moaned.

"Like this," she replied quietly, leaning down so that her chest was pressed against his before she rolled onto her side. She was afraid that any other position would put too much strain on him and his injuries, and at least this way they could both control what they were doing. Her arm was wrapped around his shoulders, and he moved with her, still sheathed inside her. His dark eyes were intent as their gazes met again.

"God, baby," he growled, his hips moving between her thighs as he rocked. His muscles were tensed and hard under her stroking fingertips. "So wet..."

She nodded, searching his face. Even after so long, she still stupidly hoped that it would suddenly all fall away, and he would be with her again.

They moved together and she moaned her encouragement, rewarding his efforts with the light drag of her fingernails over his shoulder blades, lingering kisses trailed against his shoulder and jaw, the trace of her tongue against his earlobe. His movements were steady and measured, and she allowed him to set the pace until her hips started to buck in silent protest and impatience. A smile quirked the corner of his mouth as he slowed a little.

"Ned," she gasped, and then his hand was between them, and—

She arched, gasping in a scream, and strained against him. After a few more strokes of his thumb against her clit, she was coming hard, her hips jerking. God, she had missed this so, so much.

By the time her vision had cleared and her pulse had slowed a bit, Ned had reached his own climax. She reached up to cup his cheek and traced her thumb against the edge of his lips. He nuzzled against her, and when their gazes met again, his was serene.

"Did anything... come back?" she whispered.

He shook his head, and her heart sank. She tried for a brave smile.

"Not anything," he said. "You. We did."

Her eyes widened. "You remember?"

"Proposing to you every day for a week because you insisted I was joking."

Tears filled Nancy's eyes as she smiled. "And you were very earnest about it," she murmured.

"You in the hospital. The poisoning." He shivered. "Finding you in a dusty attic. Almost losing you more times than I... well, than I wish I could remember.

"You didn't think it was gone forever, did you?"

She nodded. "Like a defense mechanism," she admitted. "A way to keep yourself safe."

Ned shook his head. "You're stuck with me," he murmured. "And no matter what, I would have found my way to you.

"There's no one else in the world but you. Never has been, never will be."

With a happy cry, Nancy gave him a tight hug. "Guess we just didn't have the right kind of kiss last night."

He laughed. "I'm willing to try them all."

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally published elsewhere. If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving feedback!


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